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by J. A. Huss

  I stop talking.

  But Carey steps forward. “Because what?” Her face is strained. She’s breathing a little faster than normal, so her heart must be beating fast. She’s nervous.

  And I realize that she’s as nervous about the truth as I am. She might have set me up tonight, but it’s only because she never believed me. She’s been trying to convince herself for months that I was lying.

  But now that we’re both here, she knows I’m not lying. And she wants me to shut the fuck up.

  Because I am almost positive that Frankie Miller did kill DeeDee Cisco, aka Danielle Stratton. The sister of Amy Stratton, star gossip reporter for Buzz Hollywood.

  I know this because I have video that I never turned over to the police.

  DeeDee was just a film-school student in one of his classes. I met her on my eighteenth birthday. They set me up. Drugged me. Had me sign a non-disclosure agreement. And then proceeded to film me doing things I never imagined myself doing.

  When I woke up in my car on the UCLA campus, there was a note congratulating me on my next blockbuster film. That was before I was a megastar. Before I made that crucial transition from the world of child actors into the world of the professionals.

  So I went to my father. The great Adam Asher. And the whole thing disappeared.

  Until DeeDee was found dead and I received a package in the mail a few days after her death that had the original footage of the movie they made with me, plus more. Plus a lot more. The NDA I signed and dozens of videos of Frankie Miller beating the shit out of her, demanding to know where she was hiding the film they made of me. It felt like a call to action. Like I should avenge DeeDee’s death for her because she held out. She played ball with my father’s offer and refused to give Miller the film.

  But I didn’t give her the same respect back. I never showed those films to anyone. I didn’t want to be involved in this tragedy in any way. I was hopeful that the tide was changing with my career. I had been called in to read for three very big films, all of which fell through, but at the time it all seems so promising.

  I didn’t want to fuck it up. I didn’t want to care about her. And I certainly didn’t want to help her. She got what she deserved. I couldn’t even fathom why she’d sent that package to me, of all people. Why me?

  I figured she was setting me up again. I mean, that’s a legitimate reaction. That incident changed my whole outlook on life. And not in a good way. I stopped looking for girlfriends and started looking for sex. I ran with that nondisclosure idea I was introduced to, and made every girl I fucked sign one.

  Carey Keefe picked up the story of poor, ousted Frankie Miller and became his champion. After a long wait for trial and with the help of a top-notch legal team, the charges were eventually dropped. Six weeks later, DeeDee’s death was ruled a suicide.

  Carey is suddenly right up in my face. “Because why, Vaughn?”

  I only have one out at this point. The truth. “You need to believe me, Carey. That I’m not doing this to ruin you. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

  She snorts. “How would you have the ability to ruin me? I think it’s the other way around.”

  I lean down in her ear and whisper, “Because you’re in those films too.”

  Her face goes white. “What films?”

  “The ones DeeDee sent to me before she died.”

  “What’s going on here?” Amy asks a stone-faced Carey.

  Carey puts up a hand to silence Amy, and then proceeds. “You ruin lives, Vaughn Asher. You stomp all over women like they are things. Just watch everyone.”

  And then she throws her arms out in a flourish and the screen changes. There’s a line of women.

  “My name is Jasinda Gonzales and I’m a victim of Vaughn Asher.”

  “My name is Sandy Delaney and I’m a victim of Vaughn Asher.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  #AndAPrincessShallLeadThem

  THEY go on and on like that. Dozens of them. And as much as I love my husband, this does make me pause. Because this is who he was before we were married. Everything they’re saying about him is true.

  I know this because he used the same words on me. He asked me to do the very same things. It was Yes, Master. It was sitting at his feet. It was being hand-fed tiny morsels of meat. It was signing a non-disclosure agreement. All of that is true.

  Vaughn stands quietly as the film ends and then two more curtains are raised to reveal all the women who just spoke out.

  Vaughn walks up to one of the girls and looks her in the eyes. “Did you get anything out of our relationship, Terry?”

  She shrugs.

  “Money? I recall giving you about seventy-five thousand dollars before we called it quits. You wanted a condo in Miami with a beach view. Done, correct?”

  She stands perfectly still.

  He moves on to the next girl and repeats his questions. “How about you, Lisa? You wanted your student loans paid off? I did that.” He moves on to the next girl. “And this one, she was a one-night stand. There was no agreement. There was no Master. There was none of this that they are claiming.”

  “So I don’t count?” the girl asks him.

  “Do you want me to lie?”

  She turns and walks away.

  “They’re not people to you, Vaughn Asher. They are things to be used and thrown away,” that editor for Buzz Hollywood tells my husband.

  “You’re wrong,” he says with conviction. “They were possessions, but only in the sense that I felt obligated to care for them while they were in this specific arrangement with me.”

  “You make me sick,” the reporter seethes. “You killed my sister. You made her so depressed she took her own life. And then you accused her boyfriend of abuse and murder.”

  Vaughn says nothing to that.

  “Grace!” the girl calls out. And everyone turns to find the blonde woman Vaughn came in with. “Where did she go?”

  I look around along with everyone else, but the girl in the houndstooth suit is nowhere to be found.

  “Put her movie back on,” the editor woman shouts.

  The film of me was a teenager is back up for all to see. I can’t believe they are showing this. As much as I hate the fact that my husband was that person this woman describes, and as confused as I am about this other stuff with this DeeDee person, there is no good reason to have this disgusting footage of my kidnapping on display.

  “Take it down right now, Carey,” Vaughn says calmly.

  “Or what?”

  “You’ll see.” The ice in his voice is so clear it sends chills up my arms.

  “I want everyone to know what your type is, Vaughn. Broken. That’s what you like. You want victims. You want girls who can’t get up off the floor and stand up to you. You want to tie them up and stick them in a closet and—”

  I slap her across the face so hard my palm is stinging.

  I have no idea how I got so close, but I slap the shit out of that bitch. The whole place gasps as I remove my mask and my wig.

  “What the fuck?” the Carey woman says as she palms her red cheek.

  “That’s enough.” I say it with confidence, one hundred percent in control.

  “Grace,” Vaughn whispers. I smile up at him and he gives me a small one back. And then I step forward until I’m right in front of him, so close that I have to tip my head back to look him in the eye. I nod my head to the line of women. “I’ve seen that man they describe, but that’s not the man I married.”

  “Grace,” he says again. But the screams from the movie cut him off. We both look up at the scene to see teenage Daisy get smacked across the face and fall to the floor. “Let’s go.”

  He takes my hand and starts to lead me away, but I plan my feet firm and pull him back. “No. I’m not leaving.” I turn to look up at that film and I watch. I make the whole room watch as I am hit and kicked, and they really chose an Oscar-winning segment for this teaser, because just before it ends, I pi
ss myself from fear.

  “Please, Grace,” Vaughn pleads. “Let’s go.”

  I turn to face the crowd instead. “Did you all enjoy that?” I ask them. “Is that what you came to see? Are you satisfied now?”

  Vaughn takes my hand and leads me away. But when I pass the Carey person responsible for this, I stop again. “You got that film from him, didn’t you? My kidnapper contacted you before he took me and offered you that film.”

  “I don’t reveal sources,” she says flatly.

  “Well,” I say, turning to the crowd, “I’m so glad you were all so entertained by the images of me being abused as a little girl. You must all feel mighty superior right now.”

  This time when Vaughn tugs on my hand, I let him lead me away.

  We take the elevator to the roof and the blonde girl Vaughn came with, who is no longer wearing the houndstooth suit, but a slinky 40’s looking flapper dress, is waiting by his car.

  “Did you get all that?” Vaughn asks her.

  She smiles widely. “I got every second.”

  “Grace, this is Marjorie. She’s a reporter for Everyday Celebrity Magazine.”

  “Holy shit. I love Everyday Celebrity. When I lived in Denver I had a weekly subscription. I read you guys every week.”

  “We like to call ourselves the ‘Real Celebrity Magazine’ because we deal in truth, not rumors,” the pretty blonde reporter says. “People trust that our stories are accurate. And this tonight, what Vaughn did… what you did… well, let’s just say, most of these people won’t have jobs this time next week, let alone be putting on this kind of show next year. Some of them might even go to jail.” She winks at Vaughn. “That’s your good news I promised, Vaughn. I have a detective friend with LAPD who’s been looking into some hacking cases and this footage I got tonight will certainly give him leverage with a judge when he starts asking for warrants.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good friend, Marjorie. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re fair with me. And that’s all I can ask for.” She smiles in response but his attention is already back to me. “Where’s your car, Grace?” Vaughn asks. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Level three.”

  “We’ll leave it here and pick it up tomorrow.”

  And then I am ushered into the Porsche and I buckle myself in as Vaughn makes his way around to his side. He gets in and starts the engine as he drags his own belt across his shoulder.

  “I just want to say—”

  “No.” I stop him with a hand on his leg. “Please, don’t apologize. I love you, and that’s all there is to it. My love is not conditional on how you acted in the past. Just like your love is not conditional on what happened to me in the past. This is us, Vaughn. Like it or not. This is us. I am that little girl who watched her parents murdered in front of her and was brutalized for eight months by a crazy man. And you are that asshole who used women for sex and treated them like possessions. But that’s not who we are right now. People grow and learn. I don’t see you as the controlling asshole I met on the beach. I love you for the man you are today.”

  He puts his hand over mine and squeezes, picking it up in the process. He raises it up to his mouth and presses his lips on my palm, ever so softly. “I love all parts of you, Grace. There is nothing about you I’d change. I love all the parts.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  #LifeIsTooShortToBeMiserableLikeYou

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  OF all the words Vaughn Asher has given me over the course of our relationship, it’s the ones back in his Porsche when we were leaving the Black Bash that stick with me. He loves all my parts.

  I love all his parts too.

  I know it was wrong for him to keep that video of DeeDee Cisco being abused from the police. But Marjorie and Everyday Celebrity Magazine took possession of it and used it to reopen the case of her death. Frankie Miller and Carey Keefe were both arrested last week.

  Buzz Hollywood filed for bankruptcy.

  The article Marjorie wrote for her magazine went to print two weeks ago and boy, you could almost hear the cheer coming from every Hollywood star who’s ever been hounded by the media.

  That’s not to say they are all bad. Marjorie, for instance, is not bad. And Amy Stratton, the woman who hated Vaughn so much and who went to extraordinary lengths to ambush him with those ex-girlfriends at the Black Bash… she’s not evil either. She was looking for justice.

  I hope she gets it with a new trial.

  As for me?

  I’m still looking for my purpose, but I’m getting closer. Rosa, that pregnant girl I picked up when I was lost in LA, inspired me. She made me think of all the times when I felt desperate as a teen. I was never pregnant and single at eighteen. And I got really lucky with a new family and a new life.

  But it was a struggle. And there were many times when I just needed a little extra help. Bebe, of course, was that help most of the time. But I got other help too. Scholarships, for one. Obviously I never sold our farm to pay for college. I told that lie about selling a house to shut people up.

  The truth is, I got a scholarship from the Colorado Sibling Fund. They are a non-profit organization who provide support for people whose siblings have been lost due to violent crime. They came to see me in the hospital that first year I was back. Before I ever got adopted, even. In fact, they were the ones responsible for bringing me out of my funk. People came to see me and talked about how they lost their siblings too. I wasn’t very nice to them, but they came anyway. And looking back, that was a turning point for me. They kept in contact with me, offering me that college scholarship when I was doing my senior year of homeschool.

  I had a lot of help. So now it’s my turn to pay it back. I took all that money that Vaughn was putting in my bank account and gave it to the charity that was helping Rosa.

  And then I decided to start a new non-profit. One that will teach inner-city girls to defend themselves if they are ever attacked. No one should have to go through what I did. No girl should ever feel helpless. They may not be able to win all the battles they will fight, but they need to have a fair chance.

  That’s the mark I want to make on this world. To help people have a fair chance.

  I think I’m over the past now. I think it’s time to let it go. And that’s why I’m sitting outside my Aunt Rachel’s house in northeastern Colorado.

  I turn the car off and wait. It doesn’t take long before the curtain is parted and I see her sour face peering out at me. I don’t want to go inside. I want her to come to me. And if I have to sit here all day, I will.

  It takes her twelve minutes, but she finally emerges from the front door.

  I get out of the car and clutch my winter coat tightly around me as the cruel prairie wind whips past my face.

  “What do you want?” she calls out as she steps down off the front stoop. “I told you to stay away from us.”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope. “I just wanted to give this to you.”

  She takes a few steps forward. “What is it? Court papers?”

  “No.” I shake my head at her. “Open it.”

  She eyes me suspiciously, but she stretches out her hand and I place it in her palm. Her wary look never falters, even as she opens the envelope, removes the papers, and reads them.

  “Why?” she finally asks.

  “Because…” I take a deep breath. “Because I’m not Daisy Bryndle. I’m Grace Kinsella Asher. And that farm does not belong to me.”

  She stares at me, but her frown never wavers. “You want me to say thank you?”

  “No.” I shake my head again. “I just want to give that to you and say goodbye.” And then I turn and walk the few paces to my rental car and get back inside.

  She watches me back out of the driveway, but she never lifts her hand to wave.

  I’m not sure why she blames me for what happened. I was a child and did the best I could. But it’s not worth my time to even worry about it
anymore.

  Let her have the farm. I don’t want it and hopefully this gesture will help her move on as well.

  No one should spend so many years being so miserable.

  Epilogue

  #PerfectionComesInManyPackages

  ONE WEEK LATER

  “I’M home!” I call out as I enter the house. “Vaughn?” His car is in the garage. I know he’s here, but the house is almost dark. And too quiet for someone to be here. It feels… empty. I make my way to the kitchen and set down the bags of groceries. “Vaughn?” I try again.

  That’s when I notice the note on the fridge. Only the light over the oven is on, so I can’t make out what it says from here.

  I sigh. “It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake.” The movie was supposed to wrap last week, but they’re behind schedule. I didn’t figure they’d be this behind though. I’ve kept myself busy with work all week to keep my mind off our upcoming vacation to Saint Thomas, but the truth is, I’m so excited I can’t stand it.

  I put the groceries away and then grab the note and turn on the overhead light.

  Good evening, sweets!

  I smile so hard at that. God, I love him.

  I got home early, so I decided to go on ahead and start our vacation without you. Don’t worry, there’s a driver waiting for you outside.

  I run over to the front door and peek out. Sure enough, there’s headlights shining in at me. I look back down at the note, biting my lip to stop the smile. What is he up to?

  He will take you to the plane and I’ll see you in a few hours.

  Love, Asher

  Fucking Asher.

  P.S. I have picked out your clothes. They’re in a box on the bed.

  Hmmm. I run to the bedroom and see the box. It’s just like the one he sent me on Saint Thomas. I’m so excited to go back there and relive our first date. I chuckle a little at that.